


I'll Let You (Ruin My Day)

by FoxCollector



Series: Love Is Much Worse [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Anal Sex, Background HashiMito, Eew, M/M, MadaTobi - Freeform, Madara has issues, Mentioned Hashirama, Mentioned Izuna, Mentioned Mito, Politics, Power Play, also kind of dark, but not really, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 21:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11564109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxCollector/pseuds/FoxCollector
Summary: Hatred is a curse. It twists you up inside, changes you until you are unrecognizable. Hatred is a curse, yes, but Uchiha Madara knows better than most that love is even worse.For Madara, it was a game. He couldn’t kill Tobirama, but he could ruin him absolutely. From the inside out.





	I'll Let You (Ruin My Day)

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I am not going to lie, this would have taken a little longer to put up, but I was so embarrassingly happy when I saw the comments on my last work that I may have immediately jumped to finish my editing.
> 
> My cats are sick of hearing about it though, so have another story! It can totally be seen as in the same universe/timeline as my other story "Hold Me Down", or it can be a standalone. When I first wrote it, they were connected in my head, but they don't have to be. 
> 
> Title comes from One Two's "Bitter and Sick", which I think works for this dynamic.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for your comments, they give me life. Never doubt how much your words mean to me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Read, enjoy, review!

            Hatred is a curse. It twists you up inside, changes you until you are unrecognizable. Hatred is a curse, yes, but Uchiha Madara knows better than most that love is even worse.

            He’d heard it said before that the real curse of the Uchiha clan was not their hatred but their love. He hadn’t been inclined to believe it at the time, perhaps because he’d heard that Hashirama had gotten this theory from Tobirama, and Madara was nothing if not petty, but later that night, alone in the dark with nothing but the ghosts of his little brothers to keep him company, he’d agreed with that. The love he’d borne for his family was a curse, it lingered in the bottom of his hollowed-out heart, reminding him that once it had been full. Now his heart was scraped edges, raw and torn and red, like Izuna’s empty eye sockets looking back at him, though they couldn’t look, not really, but he’d felt it anyway.

            It disgusted him.

            For all of that love to be wasted, for none of it to have done any good…If he could have any of it again, he’d do anything. But he couldn’t. That wasn’t the way it worked. All he could do was work to find something like peace. There was no more room for love in the hollow of his heart, so he filled it with hate instead. If avenging Izuna gave him peace, if it gave the empty-socketed spirit lingering in Madara’s room at night peace, then he would do it. At any cost. That was what he told himself. But the truth was that there was one small bit of love left in his heart. One tiny corner for the man who should have been his brother, but wasn’t.

            He wanted nothing more than to destroy Tobirama, leave him broken on the ground in a pool of his own cooling blood, to die a slow death, the way Izuna did – worse even. He saw it every time he met Tobirama’s eyes. There was only one problem: he couldn’t do that to Hashirama. He’d sworn to Hashirama that he wouldn’t kill Tobirama, or maim him in any way. That severely limited his options, but Madara was a smart man. There was more than one way to inflict pain. He knew that well, given that Tobirama had hurt him deeply without ever laying a hand on him, or being able to, if he was honest. It wasn’t ego, it was fact. The younger Senju was fast, but he’d never get close enough to land a blow if Madara didn’t let him.

            No. If he wanted to hurt Tobirama, hurt him so badly he’d never fully recover, he’d use something worse than hate. He would use love.

            It became a game for him. How could he take Tobirama’s hatred and turn it into love? What made him tick? What did he like? What didn’t he like? How could he make the shadows in his eyes retreat behind the blood red? He liked that both of their eyes could be blood red. The fact that he could hide his spoke only to the fact that deception and illusion were second nature to him, where Tobirama wore his blood for all to see, if they were looking.

            It wasn’t easy. Trust was crucial, and trust had never come easy to either of them. It might have been the hardest Madara had worked lately, a sad statement, really. He refused to get sappy, it wouldn’t work for either of them, so he tried to appeal to Tobirama’s other tastes. He’d observed early on that Tobirama kept everything beneath a shoreline of composure, just beneath the surface. He’d also noted that the man had a slightly masochistic streak. That, he could use to his advantage. And he did. There was a brief time where he could get away with a great deal on the basis of Tobirama accepting a kind of punishment he would never ask for. It was some time later that Madara had to change tactics because Tobirama was wondering why he was still there. And that was when he really set things off.

            For Madara, it was a game. He couldn’t kill Tobirama, but he could ruin him absolutely. From the inside out.

 

            After the council meeting, Madara caught Tobirama hanging back in the council room. He looked more displeased than usual.

            He waits until the last person has left and the door bangs shut with finality. Tobirama shuffles paperwork.

            “What?” Madara asks. Blunt. To the point.

            “I disagree with Himiko,” Tobirama says.

            “You didn’t say anything,” Madara says, an eyebrow raised slightly. It isn’t like Tobirama to keep his mouth shut in a council meeting.

            “I didn’t want an argument,” Tobirama says. He crosses his arms.

            It feels like a lie. It isn’t like him to avoid an argument. Madara wonders vaguely what is so different about today that makes Tobirama want to avoid an argument with Himiko. He makes a note to pick it apart.

            “So you’ll just let her have her way?” Madara asks. He moves himself slowly, gradually coming to stand behind Tobirama.

            “Tch. Her idea of safety is fundamentally flawed,” Tobirama says. He's pointlessly rearranging papers now.

            “But you’re not actually mad at her,” Madara states.

             Tobirama says nothing, but the set of his shoulders speaks volumes.

            “You’re disappointed in yourself for not speaking up. Why didn’t you? Nothing’s ever stopped you before,” Madara says. He creeps his hands up Tobirama’s shoulders, then slides one to his throat. “Are you afraid of something?”

            “…Yes,” says Tobirama, and it’s so soft Madara almost doesn’t hear it.

            He knows better than to ask for details. If Tobirama wants to tell him, he will. It doesn’t really matter. He supposes it will be a good gauge for his game. If Tobirama trusts him enough to tell him without being asked, Madara may as well get himself a trophy.

            He changes tactics. “Cowardice. I guess we’ll have to punish you then,” he says, his hand flexing on Tobirama’s pale throat.

            “Why is it always about sex with you?” Tobirama asks. There is a hint of annoyance in his voice.

            “It’s only about sex when it’s with you,” Madara replies.

            Tobirama glances at him over his shoulder and Madara reads confusion and increasing displeasure.

            “You want comfort? Go crying to your brother,” Madara says.

            Tobirama steps away from him and turns to face him, anger brewing in his eyes. “I don’t want. . .” he trails off abruptly.

            Madara knows exactly what he wants. And really, that’s good. If Tobirama seeks _him_ out for comfort it only means he’s worked his way in deeper.

            It’s a long, slow game he’s playing.

            “You want me to make love to you, tell you everything is okay?” Madara mocks.

            Tobirama’s lips curl. “Don’t” he begins.

            But Madara crashes their lips together.

            It’s violent and hard and he has to hold Tobirama in place with some effort. It’s a testament to his plan that Tobirama doesn’t just teleport away. He backs Tobirama up, step by step until he’s against the wall.

            Tobirama winds a hand in Madara’s hair and pulls hard, pulling Madara away from him. Madara retaliates in kind immediately, grabbing a fistful of Tobirama’s short hair, and tugging so that Tobirama’s head is tilted back and his neck exposed.

            “Stop it,” says Tobirama.

            “You don’t mean that,” Madara replies.

            Tobirama bears his teeth slightly. “Why are you always like this?” he asks.

            Madara cocks his head to one side. “I’m not.”

            He trails his other hand down Tobirama’s side and around to grab a fistful of Tobirama’s ass. Tobirama’s other hand clutches at his arm, somewhere between pushing and pulling.

            “I’m giving you what you wanted,” Madara says. He softens his grip on Tobirama’s hair.

            He can tell that in that moment Tobirama doesn’t trust him remotely. It fills him with a vicious glee tempered only by the awareness of a need for caution.

            “You’re not,” says Tobirama.

            “Let go and find out,” Madara tells him.

            Tobirama’s grip loosens slightly.

            “Let go,” Madara says again, using his newfound leeway to lean in and lick from Tobirama’s clavicle to his chin.

            Tobirama lets go of his hair, and his arm, setting both his hands on Madara’s shoulders. “Fine,” he says.

            Madara grins like a demon and leans in to kiss him gently. He lets Tobirama melt into it, he goes slow, and soft and hot.

            The only problem is how much he likes it himself. Still, there’s something to be said for the slow fights.

            Tobirama breaks away suddenly. “Not here,” he says breathlessly.

            “What’s wrong? Don’t want your big brother to see how much you like it when I make you take it?” Madara teases.

            Tobirama frowns, and Madara knows he’s said the wrong thing.

            But then Tobirama snorts. “What, you want him to level the village because you violated his little brother?”

            Madara responds by biting Tobirama’s lips, gently, although he wants to draw blood. “It would be worth it,” he says, then, “My house.” He squeezes Tobirama’s ass lightly.

            Tobirama inhales sharply and focuses his chakra, teleporting them to the marker left in Madara’s room.

            Blatant misuse of power. Madara loves it. Lets Tobirama know he loves it by sucking on his neck and gently ghosting his hands to the obi of Tobirama’s formal yukata. The knot is well tied, but no match for Madara’s skilled fingers. He has it open in a moment, and shoves Tobirama’s yukata roughly over his shoulders, catching his arms in it, pushing them behind his back and holding them there in twisted fabric. He pauses. It’s a good look; Tobirama mostly naked, panting, with his arms tied behind his back.

            Tobirama frowns at him. “Madara.” It’s somewhere between scolding and complaining.

            Madara feels his lip twist up in response and he’s not sure if it’s a smile or something worse. He pushes Tobirama’s yukata off the rest of the way, flinging it in a random direction, ignoring Tobirama’s protests. Tobirama kicks off his sandals and braces against Madara to pull his tabi socks off quickly. He sets them aside quickly and neatly.

            Tobirama reaches for the belt on Madara’s own robes, and Madara stops his hands, squeezing his wrists hard enough to bruise. Tobirama grunts in response, takes the hint and moves his hands back up to Madara’s shoulders, wrapping an arm around so he can pull Madara in for a kiss that is rough and hot.

            They’re on Madara’s futon before Madara is really aware of how they got there, he suspects Tobirama probably stopped them from falling out the window, because he isn’t sure they were that close to the bed. It doesn’t matter though, they ended up where Madara wanted to.

            Tobirama has his hands tangled in Madara’s hair, and Madara likes the way Tobirama pulls on it. He sucks a bruise at the base of Tobirama’s neck, where Tobirama is sensitive, and Tobirama shifts his legs apart so he fits between them. Madara can’t help the sneer against bruised flesh. Such a slut.

            Sometimes he wonders where these thoughts come from.

            “Hands,” he orders.

            Tobirama purses his lips. He’s not always in the mood for Madara’s power games, and today he seems to be on the fence. He slides his hands out of Madara’s hair and brings them up to rest on either side of his own face, close to Madara’s own arms where he’s bracing.

            “Why?” he asks, chin tipped up. Proud and challenging, even like this. Even after Madara’s worn him down. It’s sexier than Madara thinks it should be. “What if I want to touch you?”

            “That’s too bad then, isn’t it?” Madara says. “It’s not about me today, so you can keep your hands to yourself.” Madara is the master of lies and excuses, and they both know it. But sometimes he can sell Tobirama on the things that Tobirama wants to believe. The things he needs.

            “Fine,” he acquiesces.

            Madara’s grin stretches across his face and he imagines he looks a little deranged. Tobirama is watching him carefully, and there’s something in his expression that Madara can’t read. It doesn’t matter.

            He returns his mouth to Tobirama’s neck, this time sucking a mark above the collar line, making it obvious. He likes it when Tobirama has to try to hide it, likes marking him as his. He bites, darkening the skin. Tobirama makes a choked-off noise. That mark will last for days if Tobirama doesn’t heal it.

            “Animal,” Tobirama mutters.

            “You love it,” Madara retorts before he can stop himself. He drags his blunt nails down Tobirama’s sides as a distraction, leaving red trails.

            He mouths his way down Tobirama’s chest, stopping to lick at his right nipple, then blow on it. He brings a hand up to twist at the left nipple, enjoying the breathy sound that Tobirama lets out. He glances up, and Tobirama has tipped his head back, his hands are clenched into fists, and Madara knows it’s because he isn’t supposed to use them.

            He returns his attention to Tobirama’s chest, switching nipples and taking the left one between his teeth. Tobirama twitches beneath him, breath hitching. Madara was hoping for a bit more of a reaction. He slides a hand down, over the obvious bulge in Tobirama’s underwear. His hand only lingers for a second, just long enough for Tobirama to push against his hand before it’s gone. He makes a quiet, frustrated noise.

            Madara smirks. “Don’t bite your tongue. I wanna hear you.”

            “I’m not, you just aren’t that impressive,” Tobirama says.

            “Oh really,” Madara deadpans. He sits up between Tobirama’s legs and hooks both hands in Tobirama’s underwear, sliding it off and tossing it to the side, allowing Tobirama’s cock to spring free against his stomach. He’s almost fully hard and Madara has barely touched him.

            “I hate it when you do that,” Tobirama says.

            “I know,” Madara says. He runs his hands over Tobirama’s thighs, then hooks his hands underneath, propping Tobirama’s legs up to frame him.

            “What are you doing?” Tobirama asks. He’s looking down at Madara now.

            “Nothing,” Madara says. He leans down to mouth at the inside of Tobirama’s thigh, one hand idly tracing his favourite scar.

            Tobirama’s eyes narrow at him. “It’s never nothing with you.”

            Madara pushes Tobirama’s legs open around him, as wide as they’ll go, leaving Tobirama completely exposed. There’s an aroused flush across Tobirama’s cheekbones when Madara looks up at him.

            “I wonder,” Madara begins, as though he’s pondering aloud. “Should I have you prepare yourself?”

            Tobirama looks displeased. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to touch anything.”

            “I never said you couldn’t touch yourself,” Madara says.

            “Technically, you never said anything, I’m just good at extrapolating,” Tobirama says.

            Madara hums. He’s seriously debating trying to convince Tobirama to prepare himself, the show would be fantastic. The thought of Tobirama, white legs splayed open as he sinks his fingers into himself, pushing down on them the way Madara knows he would, makes Madara’s cock strain uncomfortably against fabric. But he supposes he did say it was supposed to be “about” Tobirama.

            Not that he hasn’t been a contrary bastard before.

            No, he’ll save it for next time, when Tobirama is less tense.

            Tobirama raises an eyebrow at him.

            “Grab the lube,” Madara tells him. Motioning to the side of the bed, where it had landed following their last session two days earlier.

            “Really?” Tobirama has to turn slightly to reach it, and Madara runs his fingers along Tobirama’s straining thigh. “You shouldn’t leave that so close to your lantern,” he scolds.

            “It’s fine,” Madara tells him, and holds out his hand for the lube.

            “Oh, so I don’t have to do all the work?” Tobirama asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He’s still sitting up, braced on one hand.

            “Just do what you do best, sit there and look pretty,” Madara says.

            Tobirama scoffs. “I could be doing more,” he says pointedly.

            Madara reaches out a hand, pushing against Tobirama’s chest. The other man only resists for a moment, before he lays down again. He flops his hands out to the sides, making a show of their alleged uselessness.

            “Don’t complain,” Madara tells him. He pops the cap off, coating his fingers. He takes a moment to ponder starting with two fingers, before reminding himself he’s trying to be nice.

            So he drags his finger over sensitive skin, feeling Tobirama twitch and tense. He takes his time, circling Tobirama’s entrance slowly once, twice, before he slides in. Tobirama tenses around him slightly, one knee drawing in against Madara, then he forces himself to relax. Madara slides his finger all the way in, barely pausing before he pulls out and slides back in.

            “Underwhelming,” Tobirama says.

            Madara slides a second finger along with the first. “Better?”

            “Please,” Tobirama huffs, “I’m not made of glass.”

            “You’re not made of much stronger,” Madara says. He twists his fingers as he pulls out, and again when he pushes back in.

            Tobirama’s breath hitches and he pushes back against Madara’s fingers. Madara knows what he wants, and chooses to ignore it. Instead, he leans in, kissing up one thigh and he slowly begins to scissor his fingers. His hair drags across Tobirama’s skin, black ink spilling across snow as he makes his way up to his hip. He drags his other hand down Tobirama’s chest, stopping above his erection, and Tobirama exhales in what Madara thinks sounds like annoyance.

            “Do you think if I raised my concerns with Himiko in private before the next meeting I would be more likely to convince her?” Tobirama asks.

            Madara freezes. “Why are you still thinking about work?” he asks.

            “It’s important,” Tobirama says. “And it’s productive to think things through when you aren’t doing anything.”

            “I guess I should be glad you aren’t reading poetry.”

            “That was one time. And you liked it,” Tobirama says.

            “Regardless, it was weird,” Madara says. “And, wait, ‘when you’re not doing anything’?”

            “Oh, you caught that?” Tobirama says. He has an arm laying across his face now so Madara can’t make out his full expression. “You’re boring me.”

            “Why must you always provoke me?” Madara asks. He slides his fingers in roughly, and Tobirama jolts beneath him in surprise. He knows Tobirama is only trying to get a rise out of him so he’ll go faster. It usually works.

            “I won’t dignify that with an answer,” Tobirama says. He rolls his hips against Madara, and Madara leans in and mouths at one of his balls and then the other, hooking his fingers inside and purposely missing where he knew Tobirama wanted him to hit.

            The hand resting on Tobirama’s stomach braces, and Madara licks upwards, over Tobirama’s straining erection. He can feel Tobirama’s stomach muscles clench under his hand and he grins as he sucks at the head of Tobirama’s cock. Tobirama lets out a noise that is unmistakeably a moan, and Madara repeats his actions, this time while hitting Tobirama’s prostate dead on. Tobirama groans loudly, and Madara knows he’s biting his lip now, can hear it in the way he sounds (he hates how he knows what it sounds like). Madara slides his mouth down as far as he can, and really, he thinks he’s gotten better at this. Tobirama actually never complains though, so the one time he might appreciate some constructive criticism, the bastard never says a thing. He slides in a third finger, varying his pace, and being careful to hit Tobirama’s prostate only occasionally. Tobirama is writhing beneath him, despite Madara’s attempt at holding him down, and it’s gratifying, as though Madara needed an ego boost.

            He glances up, and wishes he hadn’t. Tobirama is clutching at the sheets, and there’s a flush down his chest, but it’s his face that Madara wishes he hadn’t seen. Tobirama always looks perfect when his face is twisted in pleasure. He feels his Sharingan stirring to life, following some odd unbidden impulse to burn the moment into his eyes. Into Izuna’s eyes. One more vision of Tobirama to add to the expanding library of Madara’s madness.

            Tobirama doesn’t even react, although Madara knows he can feel the shift in his chakra. He hates that he’s done this so many times that Tobirama doesn’t even care anymore. He wants to grind his teeth, his jaw tenses and he twists his fingers viciously, making Tobirama jump and grind down against his fingers. Madara forgets what he was thinking about, and works his mouth up and down instead. He’s fairly sure he’s going to come in his pants at this point.

            “Wait,” Tobirama says. “Stop, stop, stop.” He almost stutters it out.

            Madara wants to keep going just to spite him, but he doesn’t. He pulls his mouth off with an unnecessary pop, and Tobirama drops his head back with a moan.

            “I could make you come just like this,” Madara says. “Would you like that?”

            “No,” says Tobirama. “Well, yes, but no.”

            “What do you want?” Madara asks him, just to hear the answer.

            “You. I want you inside me,” Tobirama says.

            “Ask nicely,” Madara tells him. He’s already pulling his fingers out of Tobirama, ignoring the way Tobirama almost-whines at the loss.

            “Madara,” Tobirama says, and it sounds like ‘please’ even though it’s probably supposed to be annoyed.

            Madara opens his pants, pushing his robe out of the way. It takes way too much work to finally free his own erection, and way too long before he’s slicked up and ready.

            “On your knees,” Madara says, because he’s still aware of how much he’s wearing.

            “Ugh,” says Tobirama. His chest is still heaving, although he’s calmed down considerably. He shifts slowly, and Madara helps him with inappropriately placed hands and lingering caresses. When he’s on his hands and knees, he drops down to his elbows, presenting his perfect ass to Madara.

            “There,” Tobirama says. “Happy?”

            “Extremely,” Madara says, and lines himself up carefully before thrusting in roughly making Tobirama cry out. Well, that’s a little louder than usual, Madara muses, and pauses briefly.

            “Why are you stopping?” Tobirama asks, shifting his hips back.

            Madara’s own breath hitches and he responds by pulling out and slamming back in, beginning a rhythm that’s a little slower than he wants.

            “Finally,” Tobirama says.

            “Shut up,” Madara says. He slides one hand up Tobirama’s back, the other braced at his hip.

            “Harder,” Tobirama tells him.

            Madara obliges, if only because it’s what he wants too. He picks up his pace too and he really isn’t sure how much longer he can last. He can tell Tobirama won’t last long, he’s almost trembling under Madara.

            “I –” Tobirama begins, and breaks off with a groan.

            Madara stops.

            “Oh my god, Madara, why would you stop?” Tobirama grits out.

            “I’m not nice,” Madara informs him, forcing himself to calm down. He just wants to last one more minute.

            “I noticed,” Tobirama says. His hands are gripping the sheets so tightly Madara wonders if he might rip them.

            Madara pushes one hand into Tobirama’s hair, and the other slides around and across his stomach to pull Tobirama up, so that they’re flush together, back to chest. Tobirama groans and Madara tilts his head to the side using the grip on his hair so he can attack Tobirama’s neck. Tobirama’s hands come up and Madara makes an acknowledging noise, because it would ruin his fun if Tobirama fell over.

            Tobirama gratefully twists a hand in Madara's hair, even though he has to reach backwards at an awkward angle. He reaches back to hold on to Madara’s belt with his other hand.

            Madara lets go of Tobirama’s hair and brings his hand to Tobirama’s chest as a brace. He starts to move again, slowly at first, but faster when Tobirama’s hips stutter against his. He slides one hand down to grip Tobirama’s length. The way Tobirama squeezes around him is delicious. He moves his hand opposite to his thrusts and Tobirama groans again, hips stuttering between trying to push forward and back. He’s right on the edge.

            “Come for me, Tobirama,” Madara murmurs in his ear.

            Tobirama does. With a cry that might have been a word, he comes over Madara’s hand and his own chest, clenching tight around Madara.

            Madara follows barely a second later, squeezing his eyes shut as though the blackness will somehow overwrite his recorded vision. He’s never more confused than times like this. He releases Tobirama, allowing him to fall forward as he eases out.

            Tobirama slowly gathers his wits as Madara grabs an old cloth to clean himself off. He glances to the window and by the orange light filtering in, he guesses it’s evening. He shrugs off the robe and strips off the rest of his clothes, flopping down next to Tobirama, who is still where he left him, face buried in his arms, barely supporting himself on his knees.

            Madara watches him breathe for a moment. “You can stay.”

            “What?” Tobirama asks, he still sounds breathless.

            “It’s getting late. You can stay. Unless you have somewhere else to be.”

            Tobirama lifts his face, and Madara can see he looks annoyed. “Well, there’s no way I’m going to dinner with Hashirama and Mito like this.”

            “Well, I’d hope you would get dressed first,” Madara says.

            “Ha ha,” Tobirama says. He turns so he can flop on his back next to Madara. He puts a hand to his stomach and makes a face. “I’m a mess.”

            “You don’t like the idea of trying to be all stuck up with my come dripping out of you?” Madara asks, mostly to get a rise out of the other.

            “I’ve pulled it off,” Tobirama says.

            Ah, yes. That had been damn hot.

            Madara grunts in response. He reaches out and grabs his cloth, dropping it on Tobirama. “Here.”

            “What a gentleman.”

            “I got you off,” he shrugs.

            Tobirama sighs and sits up slightly, cleaning himself as best he can. Madara watches him, even though he shouldn’t.

            When Tobirama lies back down, there’s silence between them for a long time.

            Tobirama breaks it. “So, do you think it’s better if I talk to Himiko alone? She’s a proud woman, I wouldn’t want to offend her in front of the council, she would be impossible to work with.”

            “Oh my god. Go to sleep or I’ll knock you out.”

**Author's Note:**

> On a final note, I felt this just had to be said, but my Word Processor tried to turn Madara into a dirty pirate by changing the line "my come dripping out of you" into "me come dripping out of you". I don't even know why.


End file.
